


Reggia di Venaria or the Hunting Residence

by LtRDataSoong



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 18th Century, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will, English despite the italian title, Hannibal is a bastard not literally, I may add an epilogue later, M/M, Marquess!Jack, More plot than porn, Philosophical dialogues as in the series, Quotes are my weakness, nobility au, prince!Hannibal, will is a bastard (literal meaning)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8308732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LtRDataSoong/pseuds/LtRDataSoong
Summary: Will Graham is Marquess Jack Crawford bastard son. During the hunting season at the Crawfords' beautiful residence, crowded with the highest nobility, Will meets Prince Hannibal of Lecter, an enigmatic and strangely charming man, who, with Will's surprise,  seems have a deep interest towards him.Then horrible murders start to happen in the Real, the corpses are found exposed in artistically and uniquely cruel ways, Will and the invisible killer start to blur, making Will wonder who he really is while the love for Hannibal continues to grow in him.Beta tested by Victorineb, thank you so much.Thank you to AceMattMrdck ad Hachiseiko for your patience and helping me to develop the story.Inspired by my visit at La Reggia di Venaria (it's a real place, check it out, it's beautiful) and the Hannigram Therapy Chat, I love you all guys.





	1. Capitolo Uno

Will stared at the beautiful clothes, spinning colourful, iridescent and finely worked, shining under the warm light filling the room. He had never been in a dance party before, nor to the Hunting Residence, even if it was of his family; not that he had ever felt the wish to, too many people, too many meaningless rules to respect.

 

He was a bastard, his father had never recognized him as his. He had the courtesy to not abandon him though, especially after his mother died, a woman whose rank was high enough to save her from the shame of having officially given birth to a bastard. Will had seen her just a couple of times before her death and never as his mother. He remembered the torture of having to dress elegantly, and the interminable waiting outside the room, as he sat in one of the lined chairs looking at his new shoes and at the shiny things around him. The people in the pictures seemed to be looking at him. He could hear Jack and his mother in discussion and when he was finally invited inside she treated with the same coldness she used towards low-ranking guests.

 

However, he had been raised not so differently from the noble people crowding that room: he had servants dress him every morning in clean, soft clothes, he had studied, he wouldn't ever have the need to work, he wouldn't ever know hunger. The only differences were pure formality: he was not allowed to frivolous social events, the servants called him “sir” instead of “Milord” and everyone seemed to have a general indifference towards him. There was no point in talking to him, there was no hope of obtaining power from his friendship – everyone knew who he was but nobody ever called him by his father's name, even he himself was not allowed to do so.

 

But the years had passed and with them had passed the hope for Jack and Bella to have a proper successor, their family was dying and the urge to save it had required some changes. Despite Bella's proud disdain towards the living proof of her husband's youthful sin, William's presence had started to become more and more public, a formal attempt to get people used to him during the slow wait to be finally declared the Crawfords' heir. He was invited but he wasn't really part of it: people had to see him, but no respectable lady would invite him to dance or even talk to him. So he stood peacefully in a corner, his belly full of delicious food and the warmth of alcohol, happy to observe without being involved, reading the faces and expressions, the little dramas that always took place in that neat microcosm, the futile fights, the rumours arising and spreading, all accompanied by the elegant movement of dance following the music.

 

“It is funny how these people seem to live in such a tiny little world, don't you think?” The voice interrupted Will's watching, the strange yet pleasant accent seeming to stroke him. He turned to see one of the most prestigious guests present in the room, Prince Hannibal of Lecter, dressed with incredible taste, colourful clothes of the finest fabrics.

 

“It is,” Will answered automatically, forgetting any kind of formality. Hannibal, however, didn't seem to care, he kept looking, amused, at the living play in front of them.

 

“Mister Graham, correct? I have heard talk about you,” he added after a few seconds. Will struggled to not roll his eyes; of course he had heard about him, he probably knew already who his father was, maybe even his mother too.

 

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said, with gritted teeth. Hannibal seemed to smile at his own address and at the less-than-ceremonial way Will had said it. People had started to look in their direction, the whispers had probably found a new topic to roll in. Will kept his eyes down, staring at the glass he was holding in his hand.

 

“The air here is quite suffocating, don't you agree? Shall we go outside?” Hannibal proposed looking at the other guests' curious stare.

 

And despite William wanting only for the situation to end as soon as possible, he murmured again a “Yes, Your Grace,” and followed the Prince to one of the numerous balconies with the expression of a child in trouble.

The fresh air of the night washed away the sweet torpor of the alcohol, he was still holding his glass of white wine, the music still audible. Hannibal was looking nowhere, in the night the Realm seemed immersed in the void, the woods surrounding it and the mountains had been eaten by the darkness of the night. Will was wondering why he was out there, but he stayed silent, looking again at his glass.

 

“I always liked this place, it's so peaceful, beautiful and almost unreal,” Hannibal said.

 

William resigned to make small talk, he had to amuse the Prince, obviously. “It's perfect for hunting, Your Grace,” he said with little enthusiasm.

 

“You can call me Hannibal, Will.”

 

The young man raised his head in surprise. “Why?” he asked, not daring to call him by name, not daring to disobey him either.

 

“Because since you seem unable to address me with the proper form without sounding sarcastic, it would be paradoxically more polite not to use that,” Hannibal commented. There was no reprimand in his voice, only that vague amusement that he had already shown during the dance.

 

“My apologies if I offended you,” Will said, though he could tell he hadn't, and even if he had he wouldn't be sorry.

 

Hannibal suddenly got closer to him, he still had that barely sketched smile, he was taller than Will of several inches, “No offence taken, Will.” He grabbed Will's hand, bringing it almost to his lips, and after the initial surprise William laughed loudly, feeling like he was in a weird dream, the wine making his head float. “May I have this dance?” Hannibal asked, offering his hand to Will. He wasn't mocking him, he was serious and wanting William to dance with him far from other people's eyes.

 

The Prince took the glass that Will was still holding in his other hand, completely forgotten, and set the thin crystal on the stone balustrade. The young man laughed again, turning his face away and then returning to Hannibal, whose smile had become more open. He chuckled with Will, who finally got closer to Hannibal, laying his hand on the Prince's, mocking the other man's ceremonial gestures, as Hannibal laid his hand on his hip.

Will let Hannibal lead him, the awkwardness of the first moment slowly disappearing, even if Will kept chuckling and laughing every time his mind started to think about how ridiculous the entire situation was, he and another man dancing to the sound of barely audible music in the little space of the balcony. A part of him wondered if he wasn't doing something he wasn't supposed to, asking why he was finding it so pleasant, his heartbeat so loud that he was almost scared that the Prince might hear it. Hannibal smiled at him, moving gracefully, covering the space of the balcony with elegant moves. Will wasn't a great dancer, he had learned because it was compulsory but he had never used it. Yet now Hannibal was holding him, William could feel his grip on the hip, the other one was surrounding his hand, with decision and delicacy.

 

The music eventually died and Hannibal left him, stepping back. “Thank you, Will,” he said. “You enlivened an otherwise quite dull night, I hope I managed to reciprocate the courtesy to you.”

 

William was looking at him, Hannibal seemed to be still dancing, his gestures and words had maintained the same elegance, his clothes finely decorated with intricately ordered patterns reflecting in the white moonlight. “I did find you interesting,” William said, he himself not being totally sure what he meant. Hannibal smiled again and stepping back he left, disappearing inside and gently closing the door without any further farewell, leaving Will enjoying the fresh air and stunned by his first dance.

 

 

 

As the light of the sun entered quietly and softly, Will woke up in his bed, his head unpleasantly light, his mouth and eyes dry and the nauseous flavour of wine still filling his mouth. He waited lazily, staring with an empty gaze at the light gradually filling the room, then he let himself be dressed, answering distractedly to the small talk of the boy attending him. “How did it go yesterday, sir?” the high voice asked as he knelt to clean Will's shoes.

 

“Fine,” Will heard his own voice saying.

 

Still with an empty stomach, Will went outside, the sparkling cold air of the morning always revitalised him. His little army of dogs was trotting happily around him, competing desperately for his attention and examining with care every single thing in their path. Will walked with them, passing through the dewy, brilliantly green short grass, full of affection for the animals. They were all strays, undesired puppies or abandoned dogs, saved from the sentence men or destiny had decided for them. It was considered a peculiar decision for a man who could afford the finest breeds of hunting dogs to surround himself with useless mutts. William was sure the servants' favorite joke was the obvious juxtaposition between the Marquess' bastard and his rejected dogs, and they probably were right.

 

Suddenly the dogs' agitated barking interrupted Will's thoughts, the animals running fast from him barking desperately. Only Winston waited for the master, whining and sounding almost like he was pleading for him to move faster, running ahead and then coming back to check he was still there. It wasn't unusual to see them behaving like that, probably some rotting carcass left during one of the numerous hunting trips, some poor animal killed by mistake and considered such miserable prey as to not be worth lifting all the way from the Realm.

 

He followed the pack out through the wood, into an open field. He stopped, the entire world stopped, broken. In the center of the field a pale, marmoreal, delicate figure was throned, white wooden willowy structures stretching out, trying to reach the sky, painting themselves in red yet shining like gold under the morning sun. Plump ravens were pecking flesh, the dogs were barking loudly, running and chasing the croaking birds. Will's mind slowly realized what he was seeing, a dead girl impaled on stag antlers.

 

The image slowly sunk deeply into Will's mind, his eyes coldly observing the scene. He could hear the horrible cracking sound the body had made as its own weight stabbed it, the almost black liquid running down the horns, first copious then slow as the scene set itself. He could remember her running desperately in the woods, Will had chased her, he could hear his own fast breath in the night, he had grabbed her from behind, as she fell, his hand had surrounded her neck waiting to feel the body falling abandoned like a doll in his arms.

 

“William!” Jack's voice made Will emerge roughly from the cold night. He found himself in the field. His dogs had already lost interest in the situation, the sun was shining bright, the body was still there. Jack had gotten near to him, and as a group of servants ran in front of them, covering the girl with some sheets, the vision suddenly disappeared from Will's eyes, leaving him with the doubt if it had ever been real.

 


	2. Capitolo Due

The news of the horrible crime committed in the Realm spread fast, people whispered the description with hypocrite shame and condemnation, trying to hide their morbid craving for details. In the morning, when the sun was still rising, an old servant had found the body, in the grip of panic and fear, he had burst into the Butler's room, trying to describe what he had seen, with a series of disconnected words. The Marquess had been woken up shortly after. The official story didn't mention Will's chance encounter with the body. Jack had made them cover the girl, extract the body from that horrible and cruel position and take it to the Realm to wait for the Priest to give the poor soul some consolation. William had walked back to the house, Jack at his side, while the servants were discussing and trying to figure out the least painful way to free the body.

 

The body was that of a noble young girl, one of the guests of the House. She was of marriageable age, looking for a good candidate through the many catches who were hosted in the Realm during the hunting season. William couldn't even remember her in the middle of all those girls, there for the same purpose, waiting anxiously to get invited to dance.

 

Jack asked him if he knew anything, showing his impatience at Will's delay in answering him. He was still dazed, walking in a dream, “No, Milord,” he finally managed to say and to Jack that was enough.

 

The tragedy, however, wasn't enough to suspend the hunt. After the condolences, the respectful silence and composed crying, in the afternoon the horses were prepared, the dogs freed in the wood, followed by the storm of servants carrying guns, the nobles riding and joking and the companions behind in the rears chatting cheerfully.

 

William looked at the procession in the distance, he was sitting far from them, below a tree, Winston resting on his lap. The first guns fired, followed by laughs and some reprimands; probably some jester had decided to fire his gun just for having fun.

 

“Good afternoon, Will.” Hannibal was standing near to him, he had arrived unnoticed, his clothes almost too elegant, they were so carefully picked and clean that he seemed to come from a painted hunt rather than a real one.

 

Will immediately stood up. Winston barked at the stranger, soothing only when his master petted his head and hushed him. “Good afternoon—Hannibal,” he said, struggling to say his name. “For what purpose are you up here? Why aren't you down there? You are probably leaving unused the tongues of many ambitious climbers.”

 

The Prince smiled at Will's impertinent joke. “I don't enjoy shooting at animals while hounds keep them in position tearing them apart, it's all much too chaotic for my tastes,” he explained, that ambiguous smile that had accompanied them the previous night appeared again on his face. “Why aren't you?” he asked with his calm voice.

 

William chuckled. “I couldn't even if I wanted to, I wasn't invited,” he explained. “And I prefer fishing anyway, I prefer waiting in the quiet of the streaming water rather than chasing the animals and finally shooting them dead.”

 

Hannibal seemed to think about it a little. "Fishing, in the end, is killing, there is not any real difference between that and hunting."

 

"There is a difference: in one you catch, in the other you shoot," Will said quietly.

 

"And that makes it less cruel for you or for the animal?" Hannibal asked.

 

Will looked at him, visibly confused by the question.

 

"If done properly, the hunt is about strategy and patience,” Hannibal continued, “waiting for the prey to fall into the trap you have prepared, not so different from fishing. But, if you know how to shoot and chase, the animal will die without even noticing. A well-shot bullet and in a matter of instants it dies, not even knowing why, still in the sweet illusion of being immortal, in the safety of the world where it lived and never left, you are the only one who is going to have to deal with its death. A fish instead gets killed by the unfamiliarity of a world it never saw, it dies in agony, far from everything it knows. In one you kill it, in the other you let the order of the world do it for you. Are you being merciful to the animal or to yourself, sparing your soul the responsibility of taking its life by only setting the circumstances that inevitably will cause its death?” Hannibal said.

 

Will fell silent, he had heard the almost hypnotic voice of Hannibal streaming, but he had no idea how to answer that.

 

“Would you like to join me for a walk?” the Prince asked. Will nodded.

 

 

They walked in the woods in silence, Winston following them, walking at Will's side, the noises of the hunt still coming to them from afar. “Have you heard about that girl?” Will asked all of a sudden, finally giving voice to the thought that was still nesting in his mind.

 

“It would have been rather difficult not to,” Hannibal commented, dry and plain.

 

“I saw her,” Will confessed, wondering if that was a clumsy attempt to capture Hannibal's interest. The Prince turned for a moment, not showing his surprise.

 

“This morning, while I was walking my dogs, I found her,” he continued. “It's true what they say, she was on a stag's head, the antlers were...” he stopped, unsure where the limit of decency was. “They were coming out of her.”

 

Hannibal finally spoke. “I heard about it, people are already talking about witchcraft and satanic sacrifice.”

 

Will couldn't help but smile. “There is definitely something diabolic in it, but I doubt it's a sacrifice, it's more a very dark and cruel joke,” William said, immediately regretting it. It wasn't appropriate, it was sick and he wasn't wearing the mask of shame he was supposed to, he was smiling at the killer's mocking.

 

“What do you mean?” Hannibal asked, still walking. William hesitated a moment but the other man insisted, “I'm curious to know your opinion Will.”

 

William took a deep breath. “They had chased her for a long time before killing her, she fell multiple times,” he started. The night surrounded him in an instant, he could see her running in front of him in the uncomfortable dress, stumbling, scratching her knees and tearing the fabric apart, her breath getting more and more desperate and gasping. “She hadn't received the mercy of a bullet or that of the ignorance of her imminent death,” he said, repeating Hannibal's words. “She knew what was going to happen, she ran as much as she could, and once they had caught her, they suffocated her, taking their time in doing so.” Again, Will gripped her throat, the girl was squirming, still trying to escape. “Then the killer extracted her liver, with a tiny incision that they later closed, a courtesy for aesthetics' sake rather than a sign of remorse for what they had done,” he said, the scene vivid. He knew what the organ was for, he could feel it still warm while he carefully, almost ceremonially packed it.

 

“They might not even have known her, they just wanted a body to dispose of that way, naked and exposed, showed as one of the hunting trophies that everyone in this place craves, as she was in life, a good catch for someone and a bait in the hands of her parents.” He waited for Hannibal's reaction, but the Prince was listening to him while carefully looking away, his silence as invitation to continue and Will obliged. “She had been deprived of everything, humiliated like a common animal, served as food to the ravens, only waiting to be seen by someone on the head of the more majestic prey and the symbol of the hunt itself, the same animal they are hunting right now in a not so different way.”

 

“Why the liver?” Hannibal interrupted, asking the question William was avoiding the answer to.

 

The young man stayed silent for a moment. “I don't know.”

 

Hannibal stopped, finally looking at him. Will lowered his eyes and the Prince continued for him. “If we stay on your analogy with the hunt, it's likely they extracted the liver to eat it.” William looked at him surprised by the raw candour. “But I'm pretty sure you already thought that, I told you I wanted your opinion,” he said, getting closer. William could feel his eyes on him, his heart was beating faster. “I would like you to be honest with me, Will,” Hannibal whispered in his ear. “I don't want you to hide your beautiful mind behind meaningless courtesy.” He leaned into Will's ear. “I'm not like the others Will, you don't need to hide,” he whispered.

 

 

In the distance a bullet got shot, agitated words and the loud incessant barking of the dogs signaling a good result from the hunt.

 


	3. Capitolo Tre

Will had returned home, Hannibal's words still alive in his head, wondering what he meant. He and the Prince had witnessed the triumphant procession returning to the Realm, carrying a majestic stag with them; almost a mythological creature, now lifted by a little group of servants, blood was dripping from its mouth and the multiple wounds on its body. Its antlers would be ornament for one of the numerous living rooms, its flesh the dinner of the night. After, Hannibal had left Will, wishing him a pleasant night, far from the darkness he had witnessed that day.

 

It was cold, the sun had abandoned the sky hours ago, the wet grass was freezing under Will's feet. Big ravens complained about his intrusion into their realm, the night devoid of stars surrounded him heavily, suffocating like the depth of black waters. He kept walking, he could hear behind him the heavy hoofs, he had tried to catch it with the corner of his eyes, he had seen its antlers, even darker then the rest, cutting the sky. Its huge body moved with Will, walking aimlessly, its shining eyes the only light in the universe.

 

Suddenly a blinding white light, as bright as the sun, appeared in front of Will. He stopped, feeling the stag coming closer behind him, almost touching him, he could now perceive its breath warm against his white nightgown. A shadow was right behind the light, a voice calling his name repeatedly, lugging him slowly back.

 

William found himself in the Realm’s gardens. The cold of the night struck him all of a sudden, the dim light of a lantern blinding him, Hannibal the one holding it.

 

“William, do you recall how you got here?” he asked, his voice calm.

 

Will slowly metabolised the question, then shook his head, confused. His body was covered in cold sweat, sticking to his skin and freezing, making him shake convulsively. Hannibal had grabbed his chin, carefully examining his eyes, then he laid his lips on his forehead for a long moment.

 

“You don’t seem to have a fever, have you ever had sleepwalking episodes before, Will?”the Prince asked, covering the shaking body with his jacket.

 

William was growing more and more awake with every second, even if the sensation of unreality was still holding him. He chuckled sadly, “I am not so sure I am not sleeping now.”

 

Hannibal led him to his own room. Will observed him resurrecting the fire already dead in the fireplace while lying abandoned on the bed with the Prince’s jacket still on, its golden decorations and the deep red colour now visible. Hannibal’s room wasn’t as elegant as he had expected: it was quite small, but beautiful tapestries with flowery decorations covered the walls, and above them, nature-themed frescos ran to the ceiling.

 

Hannibal took his jacket away, Will saw him fold it and leave it in the nearest chair. With delicacy he undressed Will from his still-damp gown, abandoning it on the floor while he helped Will to put a clean one on. The warmth of the new fire was slowly melting away the cold from Will’s body, making him emerge completely from that strange dreamlike world, confused and deeply terrified by what had just happened.

 

“You can sleep here if you don’t feel like being alone,” the Prince said, sitting near to him, wrapping him in a soft blanket and keeping him in his arms. “I would be terribly sorry if I found out you had another episode and died freezing outside after I let you go--”

 

“Do you think I’m losing my mind?”Will asked suddenly, interrupting Hannibal, his voice full of terror.

 

The Prince looked at him for a moment, then he smiled. “I think that the human mind is not so different from the body. Today you saw something horrible that struck your soul, it is natural that your mind needs some time to return to work properly, exactly as your body would if you were hurt.”

 

William raised his eyebrow, sceptical of that weak explanation based on analogy. A dark, deep thought was still growing in his head.

 

“What if that wasn't the first time?”

 

“You said it was.”

 

Will bit his lip, looking away from Hannibal. “Maybe it was only the first time someone found me,” he suggested, panting as he felt the anxiety increasing. “What could I have done in that state, with reality and dream blurring, with my mind unable to think or recall?” William asked, more to himself than to Hannibal.

 

“What are you suggesting, Will?” Hannibal asked.

 

“Nothing.” William cut off the conversation. The Prince seemed disappointed, he knew what Will was thinking.

 

“Why weren't you sleeping anyway?” the young man said, suddenly almost angry.

 

“I couldn't. I often have difficulties in sleeping, walking helps me,” Hannibal said. His programme for the night had been completely destroyed by the chance meeting with Will, but he was almost glad of it.

 

Will seemed to calm a little; he leant against Hannibal, finally feeling exhausted and drowsy. “Thank you for helping me,” he said, the words sounding like an apology for the tone he had just used.

 

Silence fell, Hannibal was looking nowhere, still holding Will, his curly hair tickling his neck. “William?” he tried to call, receiving as answer only an unarticulated, interrogative sound. “What did you think when you saw her?”

 

Will listlessly fought sleep. “Nothing, really. I was shocked, my mind stayed silent until Jack woke me up.”

 

Hannibal insisted, “And what did you think then?”

 

Will complained a little, the events of the night had drained all his energy. “I thought they would kill me.”

 

“How so?”

 

Will felt the sleep finally claiming him. “Because I thought I had done it.”

 


	4. Capitolo Quattro

The sizzling sound of freshly prepared food welcomed Will in the new morning. He found himself in an unknown bed, the light of the sun blinding him as the curtains were opened by Hannibal. Will sat up, still half asleep, complaining about the sudden light, his eye falling on the plate left near him on the little tea table. A rather elegant plate of yellow rice, richly spiced, carefully displayed in a dome-like shape, with smoked pink salmon, sliced eggs and bay leaves as garnish. Will had no idea what he was looking at but the delicious smell from it was engaging his

hunger.

 

“It's called Kedgeree, it's originally an Indian dish, even if after passing through the colonists' hands it has lost most of his original taste and grown nearer to English ones, more an imitation of the Indian cuisine,” Hannibal answered to Will's curious gaze. 

 

“Nothing is more fashionable nowadays then familiarity dressed with fake exoticism,” William joked, finally getting out of the bed.

 

Hannibal smiled, amused. “Traditionally it should be made with smoked haddock, but I had to improvise with what the kitchens had,” he said, pulling a chair towards Will, who had gotten closer and was now standing near the Prince, watching Hannibal in disbelief.

 

“You cooked that?” he asked, almost scandalized.

 

“Yes, I did,” Hannibal answered, smiling at William's very evident surprise. “I think it's a shame that cooking is seen as humble work, suitable only for servants and housewives,” he said, frowning, while William took his place. “There is something extremely creative and artistic in cooking, besides it being deeply intimate, born from the most atavistic, natural and materialistic need of eating. It also expresses the very human desire to improve things only for the pleasure of our senses as an end in itself; as aesthethics in art please the eye, so much work goes into cookery, solely to make the food taste better. And, as with every good artform, it should be performed only under inspiration rather than the empty need to cater to the whims of some paying tyrant.”

 

Hannibal spoke while pouring the steaming tea for Will – who watched, disbelieving that a Prince was really serving him – and then he finally sat in front of William. It was the first time they would have a meal together; they had eaten at the same table many times but always separated by the whole social ladder between them. Will had only seen Hannibal in the distance, near his Father and the other high-ranking guests.

 

Hannibal grabbed a long fork, the porcelain handle of which was decorated with little drawings, matching the ones on the plate. Then, with a nod, the Prince invited Will, who – for once being polite – was waiting for him to start eating, to do the same. With a slow, ceremonial gesture he brought a slice of salmon and a bit of rice to his mouth.

 

Will imitated him, then the young man let out a sound of pleasure. “It is delicious,” he complimented.

 

Hannibal smiled. “I thought a fish dish would be appropriate for a fisherman. If you could procure me some fresh fish I would be glad to prepare you some truly exotic dishes.”

 

William chuckled. “I thought you had established fishing as extremely cruel.”

 

“Maybe a good meal is worth the cruelty,” Hannibal answered, amused.

 

After forcing himself to eat slowly to savour the delicious food, Will left Hannibal's room, still in his pyjamas. As he left he held the Prince's hand in his own, promising to meet him later to benefit from the solitude they had been left in, since everyone else had gone to the Realm for another hunt early in the morning. William walked, happy and with a bellyful of food, dazed by the pleasant strangeness of the situation. He went out as soon as he was dressed in a more decent fashion and recovered the fishing equipment, then he rushed to return to Hannibal's doorstep. Carrying the long fishing rod, and in the other hand the case with all they might need, he decided to cut through the more direct way, taking advantage of the absence of anyone else to pass through the guests' halls.

 

He stopped as he saw a woman, dressed in black, looking absently out of one of the big windows. Will turned around, trying to not make any noise.

 

“You are the Marquess' bastard, aren't you?” the woman asked, not turning around, breaking Will's hopes of avoiding her and making him glance at her in surprise; it was a surprisingly direct way to speak.

 

“Yes, Milady,” he answered. He couldn't deny it.

 

“Enjoying the day, I see, having fun, like everyone else,” she commented bitterly, glaring coldly at Will, who didn't reciprocate the eye contact or answer her. “Everyone seems to forget so easily,” she continued, returning to gazing blankly out of the window. “Is it true you saw her?”

 

William finally raised his eyes. “Yes, I did, Milady. I was the second to find her.”

 

She came closer to him, tears in her eyes. “Is it true? Was it as horrible as the shameless, filthy blabbermouths say?”

 

Will nodded.

 

The lady laughed. “And there they are, playing, eating and enjoying theirselves, oblivious that a wolf is among them,” she said, quivering in her sad anger. “Do you think she was oblivious too, or did she know? Did she pass her last moments lightly in the company of her own murderer as everyone here is doing?”

 

William bit his lip, unsure if lying was more merciful, or telling the truth, he could spare the mother of the girl the horror the daughter had died in, letting her think her child had been killed content in his young innocence, that she had been murdered quickly without noticing, slipping slowly in the dark, as Hannibal said, still in the sweet familiarity of her little naive world, far from the fear or even the possibility of death. The image of her eyes in terror while they blew, the intense horror and realization slowly leaving them under the moonlight, her body abandoning itself on the black grass revivied in his mind “I think she knew, Milady.” he finally said, meeting firmly her gaze, seeing the sarcasm and her fake audacity disappearing from her eyes, looking horrified to Will.

 

“Why didn't you lie to her?” Hannibal interrupted Will's story, breaking his memory, distracting him from his reflections, the young man wasn't looking at him directly, his gaze lost in the waters.

 

They were sitting on the little boat William always used to fish, in the middle of the perfectly circular and still lake. Hannibal was sitting there, scarcely showing his unfamiliarity with the situation; he certainly wasn't used to staying in such tiny boats for so long, but his dignity didn't allow him to show any kind of discomfort. He just stayed there, with his book, still unopened, safely in his hands. He had observed Will carefully prepare the fishing rod and the bait, which was now hidden in the dark waters, lying in motionless wait.

 

“I thought to do that, but it didn't feel right,” Will answered, omitting the almost perverse pleasure he had felt crashing and killing her last hopes, her eyes changing losing any strenght she was so desperately trying to wear, the morbid curiosity to know what she would do, but after Will's sentence the woman had just left him with the guilt of his own cruelty “But she is right, everyone seems to have forgotten.” he added.

 

“Are you scared of the wolf, Will?” Hannibal said, smiling.

 

“I'm scared that nobody is looking for it, mostly,” William replied, quietly staring at the water, thinking about the events of the previous night, about that deep dark doubt that had blossomed in his head, the vivid image of him killing her.

 

“Do you really suspect yourself?” Hannibal's voice interrupted the flashes.

 

Will looked at him, surprised. “Why would I do that?” he asked loudly, turning to Hannibal quickly, trying to sound angry, offended even.

 

“You told me you do last night,” Hannibal said, his face staying calm in front of the other man's reaction.

 

“I was just scared.” Will cut the conversation, returning to stare at the subtle wire of the fishing rod.

 

“But you want to catch him. That would put you in the role of the hero, automatically putting the murderer outiside you and making him opposite to you,” Hannibal stated, a few moments after the silence had fallen.

 

Will looked at him. “Maybe I just want to give some justice to that girl,” he commented.

 

Hannibal smiled. “Maybe,” he said. “I'm inclined to be skeptical towards purely altruistic actions; humans are rarely moved by such a dull motivation.”

 

William finally smiled. “It's kind of a sad vision of humanity, don't you think?”

 

“And that is probably what makes it the most realistic vision,” Hannibal replied.

 

Will returned to watching the waters. Hannibal was looking at their surroundings, his fingers caressing the yellow pages of the still-closed book.

 

“What is your motivation, Hannibal? Why are you doing all of this?” William asked all of a sudden. The Prince looked at him, visibly confused by the question. “Why are you giving me so much attention? Why do you search for me? What do you win in this?” the young man asked, studying Hannibal.

 

The other man smiled, again that ambiguous smile on his face. “I told you, you enlighten an otherwise very boring situation.”

 

William frowned. “That doesn't sound very flattering, being the Prince's pastime is not exactly my biggest aspiration.”

 

Hannibal chuckled lowly, leaning towards William. “It is rare to encounter someone so interesting as you, Will,” he said, placing his hand on Will's cheek. The young man felt his heart racing again, the warmth of arousal spreading in his body. “And even more rare to find someone who seems equal to me,” Hannibal continued. “Your mind, Will, is unique.”

 

Will laughed, more out of nervousness than anything else. “I wish I could give it to you, I'd be happy to get rid of it,” he joked.

 

Hannibal smiled. Leaning forward, his lips touched Will's, kissing them slowly for a long moment, tasting him carefully. Will abandoned himself completely, giving the kiss back. And then Hannibal let Will go. William watched him, totally lost, still holding the fishing rod in his hands. He escaped Hannibal's cutting gaze, knowing that his arousal had coloured his cheeks red.

 


	5. Capitolo Cinque

Hannibal's love was intense and profound. On occasion he gifted William another kiss as slow and intense as the very first he had given, allowing him such a high privilege, but he was inclined to show his passion with less obvious and yet more intimate and profound acts of love, knowing that his beloved would always be able to read and recognise them. William always felt that sense of sweet fear around the Prince, shivers running through him as Hannibal's lips tasted his neck, or as he felt his warm breath against it, inhaling William's scent. They went on long walks, safe from others' eyes, in the woods with only the company of Will's dogs, Hannibal always talking in ambiguous and almost poetic streams of words, flowing with that rounded accent that Will loved more and more every day, always asking questions that Will clumsily avoided answering. He let himself be cradled by that new and unusual love, forgetting about his purpose to capture his shadow, the person, maybe himself, who had slaughtered that girl.

 

On a sunny morning, they left the still-sleeping Realm, not even worrying about hiding from the servants, the only other people awake at the time. They walked the dusty paths, William feeling cheerful. Arriving in a field, he lay on the green grass playing with Winston and Hannibal, after having disposed carefully of his jacket on the ground to avoid his clothes getting spotted by the grass, joined him. Will carefully hugged him, almost waiting for his permission, and Hannibal gave his blessing by kissing his curly hair, caressing him.

 

“It's a beautiful day, isn't it? It is one of those days where it's hard to believe there could be evil or darkness in the world,” Will said, looking at the grass dancing in the morning wind and the golden sunlight in the celestial blue of the clear sky.

 

“Quite a curious place to say that,” Hannibal commented, still running his hands through Will's hair, feeling him sink into his hand, leaning slightly back to feel it more. “Where did you find her?”

 

William shifted a little on Hannibal's chest. He always asked such precise questions, he seemed to see clearly what Will was trying to hide even from himself, maybe understanding the obscure mechanisms in his head better than Will did.

 

“Right there,” he answered, pointing to the spot, a few steps from where they were lying.

 

“Do you come here often?” Hannibal dug more.

 

“Almost every day,” Will confessed.

 

Hannibal persisted, “Why return to the place where everything broke?”

 

“I almost hoped that I would eventually be able to see the wolf,” he answered quietly.

 

“You were hoping to see someone else reliving the scene, returning to gloat over their own mischief, or you were trying to see it in your mind? Were you trying to be the hero or decide if you are the wolf, Will?”

 

“I am not sure,” Will said, almost pleading for mercy with his tone, hiding his face in Hannibal's chest.

 

The Prince leant in, kissing him again, holding him tightly. “I apologise if I pushed too much, Will,” Hannibal said. William snuggled into Hannibal's chest, still hiding his face, squeezing into his arms. “It wasn't my intention to ruin the moment," he added.

 

"Do you think they will kill again, eventually?" Will asked after a few minutes of silence.

 

"Do you?" the Prince replied.

 

Willam rolled his eyes. "I don't like when you do that, replying to questions by passing them to me."

 

Hannibal chuckled. "I am always curious to hear your opinion."

 

"That's a cheap trick, avoiding having to answer me by flattering me," the young man said, finally raising his head, smiling at Hannibal. "I think they will," he said, becoming serious again, leaning against the Prince's neck. "They are just waiting, wondering if people will do anything or if they will continue to ignore what happened," he said, looking into the distance.

 

"It's typical of humans to avoid thinking about problems while they aren't affected directly, even when they know they will be eventually. It is like the story where the comedian is condemned to death and the King, as a last act of kindness, allows him to perform one last time before being executed," Hannibal continued, returning to caressing Will's hair. "The comedian, to everyone's surprise, plays his part brilliantly, even knowing that as soon as he is finished he will have to die. He makes everyone laugh, in the style of the comedic play he jokes and jumps; he seems to have forgotten, like any good actor lost in the illusion of his own play, that he must die. Even the Prince, the same person who had sentenced him, unable to stop, laughs at his pranks. And then, when the Comedian is at the best part of his performance, the Prince has him killed, shot in his back in the middle of a joke."

 

"So everyone here is a good actor, lost in their happy play?" Will asked, confused but amused by Hannibal's strange tale.

 

"Well, not everyone," Hannibal pointed out, smiling to his frowning lover.

 

***

William walked on the cold stone floor, the marble statues were surrounding him, staring at him with empty white eyes. The stag, black and glowing silver within the moonlight was moving slowly in front of him, its steps sounding loudly throughout the room. Black water had started filling the space; Will could feel it, flowing beneath his feet, rapidly submerging them. He couldn't take his eyes off the giant stag, moving majestically in front of him.

 

It stopped, its breath was so deep and incandescent that it seemed to come from Hell itself. William stretched out his arm, pushing his hand open, right in front of the dark snout. The eyes of the creature were burning red, its antlers rapidly reaching towards the ceiling, its breath cold against him, though the animal was warm.

 

As his hand touched it the world changed. He woke up in one of the main rooms of the Realm, the strong and unpleasantly intoxicating smell of blood striking him first, the still-warm flesh of the pale dead body he was touching making him jump back.

 

Unable even to scream he just let out whimpers suffocated by his own laboured breath. His feet were sticky with fresh blood from the puddle he had been standing in, his hand still feeling the naked flesh he had touched, his fingers black with blood. He fell against the wall, leaving black traces on the floor, and finally the scream was liberated from his chest, a weak desperate lament while he stroked his hand desperately against his nightgown, spotting it with blood.

 

The corpse was a man, this time, Will recognised him immediately. He had seen him various times, though he never had the “pleasure” of his famously odious company. He was one of those parasites that crowded the Realm in the desperate search for loans. Invited only because of his rank, he was one of those noblemen without any power at all except the remnants of that his family used to have.

 

A horrible bloody gash had opened his throat - the wound William had touched with his fingers - and his tongue, the one he used to plead and make mendacious to steal from others, had been pulled outside of it. The head, no longer supported by the neck, had fallen back, looking with an expression of untold horror at the ceiling.

 

Will slowly emerged from the shock, his heart trying to stabilise again and his breath returning slowly to normal while the sweat cooled on his skin. Still shaking violently he unsteadily stood up, leaning against the wall, unable to move his eyes from the morbid spectacle.

 

 

Hannibal was sitting on the bed, waiting patiently. As the rushed knocking came from the door he smiled of the success of his trap, standing up calmly. After fixing his gown, he opened the door to find Will, sweating, sighing and panting, with his clothes spotted of blood.

 

Will jumped, hugging him as a cry finally broke forth. Without saying anything Hannibal led him inside.

 

William found himself sitting on the comfy bed sobbing incoherently, apologising and begging for forgiveness while Hannibal kissed him on his forehead stroking his curly wet hair, hushing him with sweetness and holding him in his arms. As Hannibal stood up, Will's crying became louder and even more desperate, calming down only when his lover returned to him with a bowl of warm water smelling of delicate, flowery soap. He calmly started to clean him with a wet cloth, stroking Will's hands, dirty with blood, with methodical attention, squeezing the cloth and immersing it in the soapy water. Will's panic was slowly soothing, he was now silent and observing the reassuring movements of the older man, trying to drown in the sweet illusion that Hannibal would be able to solve everything. The Prince knelt to clean with the same attention his feet, the water coloured in red. After having put Will into a clean, soft gown, he squeezed him in his arms, embracing him, cradling him a little. William was whimpering, unable to watch him directly and keeping his head bowed.

 

"I think I've killed someone," he confessed weakly

 

Hannibal didn't comment, he didn't ask Will anything, he just kept embracing him as the young man started to cry, sobbing against his chest.

 

“I just woke up, he was there, there was blood, on me.” Will told the events with disconnected words while sobbing, clutching at his lover's gown, desperate at the idea Hannibal might abandon him, even though he wouldn't blame the man if he did. Who would want to share their bed with a murderer?

 

He was trying to explain himself without justifying himself and trying to order the images in his head when Hannibal hushed him again. “I think it's better if we talk about this tomorrow; everything seems clearer and more reassuring under the sunlight, far from the night shadows,” the Prince interrupted, kissing Will on his lips and stroking away the tears from his cheeks.

 

He stood up, poured some hot tea and then returned to sit near the young man, offering him the cup. William obediently sipped the dark hot beverage. “What is it?” he asked, returning to lean against Hannibal's chest, feeling the bitter taste the beverage had left in his mouth.

 

“It will help you to sleep, it will all seem better after, I promise you, Will.” Hannibal's words got lost in the sleepy fog that surrounded Will while he continued to drink the tea from Hannibal's hands, slowly losing contact with his body and mind, letting himself fall against the other man.

 

“I love you,” he said, falling asleep while the Prince wrapped him in the soft fresh sheets.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prince's tale is from Le Spleen de Paris by Baudelaire, I couldn't credit it in the text because it had been published in 1869.


	6. Capitolo Sei

William woke up still in Hannibal's arms. The older man was behind him, holding him in his embrace, sleeping peacefully against his back. William shifted carefully, afraid to wake him up, and faced him, observing him carefully. It was the first time he had seen Hannibal without his usual perfection and intimidating composure; he was almost surprised to see he slept at all. The prince looked almost angelic in that so-human setting, with his eyes closed, his entire body free of its usual rigidity, completely relaxed against Will's, his breath calm and deep.

Slowly, in Will's head, the previous night emerged. Hannibal must have dispensed of his blood-spotted clothes, probably a courtesy to him. He wondered if someone had discovered the body yet, if they were already looking for him and if they would kill him slowly. He snuggled against Hannibal, letting out a little sigh against him, at which the Prince moved a little. Without opening his eyes he pressed his lips to Will's hair, who had gone immobile, hoping Hannibal wouldn't wake up. He didn't want the day to start ever, he wished that he could stay in Hannibal's bed, in his arms forever. 

“Good morning, Will.” The voice crashed Will's hopes, Hannibal was smiling at him.

“Hello Hannibal,” he answered low, squeezing the Prince in his arms as he made to get off the bed, watching sadly as he walked away from him, starting his morning. 

Will observed him while he filled the porcelain basin on the table with water. As he began to undress himself, the young man wondered if he was supposed to look away but instead he continued to stare, observing Hannibal for the first time in the intimacy of his everyday behaviour. He saw the Prince taking his white gown off, neatly folding it and leaving it on the table. He washed his face and then his body, observing himself in the little mirror and then he smiled at William's curious stare, continuing his toilette and finally returning to the bed.

He sat near to Will, thin underwear the only piece of clothing covering him, and leant against him, kissing him intensely and tasting Will's lips with his tongue. 

William felt his heartbeat rushing, slamming against his chest, and he dared to embrace Hannibal, pulling him against him. He would do anything for him, please him in any way. He let his hand go down, touching the prince through the soft and almost transparent underwear. Hannibal growled, moving against him, biting Will's lips, and the young man stroked him again, with more confidence, letting his hand run over it again and again, feeling Hannibal's arousal getting harder beneath his fingers. As he tried to slip his hand inside the underwear, Hannibal stepped back, panting. William watched him, puzzled, almost lost. 

“My apologies, Will,” the Prince said, trying to calm his breath. “I shouldn't have, I am sorry,” he added. 

“You shouldn't have done what?" Will asked loudly, annoyed by the sudden dismissal Hanibal had given. "I wanted to,” he said, lowering his tone, as his arousal was passing to frustration, his heart slowing down a little. 

“No, Will, you are trying desperately to make sure I will not leave you despite what you confessed to me last night, despite what you think you have done, attempting to seal our relationship with an intimacy which you believe will make it unbreakable,” Hannibal replied. Will looked at him in disbelief.

“What? How can you even say that?” he screamed, deadly offended by Hannibal's suggestion of using sex to trap him, even more upset by knowing it to be true only after the other man had said it. Once again the Prince had seen the soul of his actions better than himself, dissecting his mind, exposing a part of him he really didn't want to acknowledge. He covered himself with a rushed, angry gesture, his own erection still showing clearly beneath the pyjamas. He was boiling with fury yet he looked down as the shame and humilation started to take over his proud resentment, tears stinging his eyes. 

“I will not leave you, Will, and I won't take advantage of you in this moment,” Hannibal said, caressing his hair, soothing Will's clear upset. “You should get up, now. I told my valet I won't need his services today, but it would be better to make your return to your room as soon as possible, considering that they probably have found the body by now and your absence might seem somewhat suspicious.” Will was still looking away. “We will be together later,” the Prince reassured him, kissing him on the top of his head while Will tried desperately to suffocate his own sobs.

***

William laid on his bed for a long time, nauseous and wishing to slip into that deep sleep he had been able to have in the night. Now that he was alone and awake the weight of the situation had fallen on him. He kept waking up in a sudden panic, seeing images of blood, the warm, sticky liquid on his hand, the horrific memory of the body flashing in his mind, making him jump, realising each time that what had happened was real, that there wouldn't be the sweet relief of reality breaking the nightmare. 

The valet had entered in the rush of his busy morning and had opened the curtains, letting the sun fill the room with a golden clear light. William had dismissed him, letting him have the morning free with a confused mess of words. The servant had thanked him, dazed, after glaring at him suspiciously, then closed the door after him, leaving Will languishing on the bed, sick of the new light blinding his eyes. 

He hadn't moved when the knocking had come from the door, a part of him thinking with relief and fear that maybe they had arrived to execute him.

“It's me, William,” Hannibal's voice came from the other side of the door. Will still didn't move.

“May I come in?” the Prince said after a few seconds of silence. 

Will emitted a positive answer in a whimper but he didn't stand up as Hannibal entered. The Prince looked at him with pity, dressed with the same elegance and attention as always, Will could feel the shame of that morning, how Hannibal had refused him, how weak he had appeared that night and how miserable he must look now. In that moment William thought he hated him.

Hannibal sat at his side, William curled on his bed, still wearing his pyjamas, wet with sweat.  
“You missed our appointment,” Hannibal said. There was no offence in his voice, just a dry and maybe concerned observation. William glared at him unkindly, but he didn't move as the Prince's hands caressed him. “I assume you haven't eaten anything all day,” he said, ignoring Will's stare. “I have brought you some soup, I would appreciate if you sipped a little of it, at least, you need to eat something.” His voice was concerned, but Will just shook his head beneath Hannibal's kind touch.

“I have good news,” the Prince said, placing his hand delicately on Will's cheek. “Nobody is suspecting you. Actually they have no idea of who might have done it, most of them are just planning to leave the place and save themselves,” he said. “Even the servants are planning to abandon the ship, the Realm will probably be empty or almost by tomorrow, that will make it harder to identify the killer.”

Will moved away from Hannibal's touch. “You are a monster, Hannibal,” he said, bitterly, wondering if that was a cheap revenge over the rancour he was feeling towards Hannibal. He wanted to scream but his voice came out weak. He curled a few inches from where he was before. Hannibal was watching him surprised, and Will thought that might be the first time he actually showed any emotion so evidently. “A man is dead, Hannibal,” he said darkly, “I might have killed someone.” His voice was starting to crack. “Maybe not even for the first time,” he added, “and all you can think about is how to avoid your precious toy being given the right punishment for his sin.”

Hannibal's face had gone rigid. “I only want the best for you, Will,” he said with a growl. “I never saw you as a toy,” he added, staring Will in his eyes. “Anyone else will just see a beast, they will lock you in a tiny little room, if you're lucky your father will make sure your conditions won't be so bad, but you won't be free, you will only be a monster closed in a cage. But who says that a monster must be caged? Why should the different and unique be the ones caged? Isn't that a shame, to waste a beautiful creature as you are?”

William looked at him, confused. “You still think you can win me over by telling me I have a beautiful mind? Where are morality and justice in all of this?”

“Morality and justice are relative, dictated by the power of the weak and dull majority. Aesthetics only wants to preserve uniqueness and the freedom of the few.”

“Like me and you?” William said, trying to hide his horror.

“If you wish, yes, both of us,” Hannibal said, smiling.

“That's horrible. You almost seem to hope I murdered someone, simply to make me more interesting. You really don't care about the death of those people, you only want to be witness to an interesting play don't you?” William said. This time, his voice was high and acute, desperate and in pain. 

Hannibal watched him, realising he had said too much, he had shown too much too soon. 

“Please, leave me alone.”

The Prince watched him, hurt deeply by Will's refusal to even look at him.

“I don't want to see you again, you are like poison to my soul,” Will said, sobbing. “How can I even hope for redemption with you whispering things like that in my ear?” he said, as in the night Hannibal had seemed like his only hope of salvation, now suddenly he was the one to blame, the devil corrupting him. 

Hannibal stared him for a long moment. Then, without even trying to apologise or make Will change his mind, he left. Will watched the door closing, feeling like he was suffocating, regretting the words he had just spoken, yet knowing that they were true. Hannibal was blind. He wondered if he really was evil or just lost in such an egoistic and exclusive form of love.

He imagined going to Jack, confessing his crime. Being locked in a cage might be the right solution in the end, how else could he hope to control something he did in the unconsciousness of sleep?  
But the idea of it was horrifying, as Hannibal had said, he would lose his freedom before he had really tasted it.


	7. Capitolo Sette

As the days passed, William had procrastinated any decision about his future, continuing to try to avoid thinking about the darkness he had seen, it seeming like a distant nightmare now. He had walked with his dogs, gone to fish, and paid a visit to the places where he and Hannibal had tasted their love, sitting alone there remembering those few days of apparent happiness. He had returned to the first crime scene many times, trying desperately to find in his mind any clear admission of guilt, blurring with the flashes his mind had depravedly created.

 

The nights had become terrible, darkness and pale corpses lived in his dreams, and he always woke wet with sweat, shaking with fear, the only consolation that he was still in his bed, nobody had died under his hand.

He had seen Hannibal many times, it would have been difficult not to, especially since, as Hannibal had predicted, the Realm was almost empty. During meals he and Hannibal watched each other. William couldn't resist spying on him, trying to be discreet, his eye always falling on Hannibal, who always watched him with his cutting gaze, no resentment or remorse in it, only curiosity.

 

And on one of these mornings, when he was sitting in the grass of the open field, remembering with guilty pleasure the time he had passed there with his lover, the woman, the mother of the first victim, had suddenly covered the sunlight.

 

William had opened his eyes at the sudden shadow that fell on him. The woman was looking at him with a less-than-kind gaze. The young man had immediately stood up, quickly cleaning his clothes of grass, mumbling a respectful greeting.

 

The woman grinned with a wicked smile, and she came closer to Will's ear. “I know what you have done, bastard,” she whispered. William felt shivers running fast on his back, the surprise opening his eyes. “I saw you, running in the dark hallways covered in blood,” she continued, seeming to taste the word blood intensively. William could feel his eyes getting bigger, his heart beating, his voice not having the strength to deny. “I want you to know, bastard, as you said she knew, you won't have the mercy of ignorance as she hadn't, you will run like a hunted animal, as she did.” She got closer, almost touching him with her lips. “And only in the end you will die, exhausted from the fear and knowing your killer will be your only company in your last moments.” After such an enigmatic threat, she had left, still smiling viciously at Will, dismissing him with her hand.

***

William's sentence had been pronounced, justice would be done, by the established power or the mother of his first victim, it didn't matter. The young man had gone to his room, alternating between moments of almost ascetic joy at and acceptance of that tragic and rightful end with the terror of the unknown. He had thought about going to see Hannibal, to say farewell to his beloved, but the hate and repulsion he had felt that day kept him from doing it.

That evening he went to dinner with the stoic spirit of a convicted in his last day of life, he watched with renewed eyes everything surrounding him, wondering if that would be the last time he would see them.

 

This time almost everyone could see the body, the procession of the people entering in the dining room, following the strict order of rank had been suddenly interrupted by the horror of the scene.

Will was one of the last coming in, as usual, the silence had fallen all sudden, all conversations had died at once for a long moment before the screams started, loudly breaking the air. People had started to run outside the room, Will and the others in the back of the queue look at them confused, feeling the fear arising only seeing the one in the other's heart, that athavic need of running when others do, someone did, escaping the horror before even seeing it. Will continued to walk towards the figure, fighting the flown of the running preys. He stopped, staying still a few meters from it, staring hypnotised the blood dripping from the black air covering the dangling head of the woman, the one who had promised him death, while people run clumsily on their elegant clothes, almost stepping on him. William's eyes followed the blood streaming till the floor on the light green walls, covering the frescos where Greek gods and mythological creatures were banqueting, and dripping from the antlers that were lifting the weight of the naked crucified body.

 

Hannibal was standing a few meters from her, the only one whose eyes weren't looking at the horrible display. Instead he was scrutinising Will, his face cold and unexpressive as usual but Will could see that vague amusement shining hidden in the depth of his gaze. The scene had gone black, the only things existing were Hannibal and the body, his lover’s terrifying gaze looking at him, penetrating him, his mouth slowly opening in a smile.

 

Will felt the air becoming thinner, suffocating in a desperate attempt to breathe, his eyes unable to move from Hannibal's, until the body got swallowed by the blackness, and after it, even Hannibal disappeared.

 

***

He woke up in Hannibal's arms. “Are you feeling all right, Will?” he asked. The Prince was holding William's wrist, his eyes studying Will’s. “You had what seemed like a mild seizure,” he explained.

 

Will was trying to reconnect the confused fragments of what was happening, slowly remembering who Hannibal was, where they were and finally what he had seen, wondering, without any emotion, what was real and what was dream. He could hear Jack's voice barking orders to the servants from the other rooms, asking how they hadn’t seen the body or know how this happened.

 

Will's eyes slowly returned to see, his mind recognizing what they saw, and he hugged Hannibal, shaking suddenly in fear. “Was that real?”

 

Hannibal seemed surprised but he wouldn't be so unkind as to refuse Will's request for comfort. “If you mean Countess Lass' death and horrifying discovery, then yes, it was real.”

 

“I can't have done this,” Will said in a rush. “I was awake, I was awake the whole afternoon,” he repeated multiple times, confused, stammering. Suddenly the stream of scattered words stopped. “Why were you smiling at me?” he asked slowly, looking at Hannibal.

 

The Prince smiled, leaning into his ear. “It was supposed to be a present for you, Will,” he whispered.

 

 


	8. Capitolo Otto

William wanted to run far from Hannibal, run to the garden to let the cold air return him to reality. Instead he stayed in Hannibal's arms, panting, watching those eyes he thought he knew so well and that smile now so disturbing, unable to scream for help and thereby consign his own lover to certain death. The reaction Hannibal was waiting for, curiosity radiating from the depths of his eyes, never came: William just stayed silent without commenting on his horrible revelation, as to his mind came the awareness that Hannibal had always been playing with him, cruelly letting Will believe himself a monster, taking care of him with his little courtesies in one hand while drowning him with the other. The flash of that confession he had let escape, that love confession he had made in Hannibal's bed after the Prince had stayed with him when Will had thought he didn't deserve anyone to, was now suffocating.

 

He finally found the strength to get up, only to fall to his knees again and throw up a few inches from where he was, before collapsing completely, all his strength gone.

 

A few people on the other side of the room glared at him in evident disgust. “He is just upset about the horrible tragedy of the evening, he is very sensitive. I beg your pardon,” Will heard Hannibal's voice justifying him. Then Hannibal helped him to get up. “I'll get you to your room, Will, I guess you need to think and rest, now,” he said as he lifted the younger man. William let Hannibal lead him, practically dragging him, towards the private rooms.

 

The young man leaned against Hannibal, empty from the sadness, loneliness and betrayal that had so suddenly befallen him. But it was only after a few moments that finally the anger rose in him, firing his soul, waking his body.

 

“Let me go,” he screamed all of a sudden, as they were passing through one of the numerous hallways. He could smell his own vomit, his head hurt and the whole world was swaying. He freed himself from Hannibal's support, pushing him with the strength which had suddenly flowed through his body, pushing the Prince abruptly against the wall, grabbing his elegant, sky blue jacket. Hannibal had raised his arms against the wall, staring almost amused at Will, who was panting with fury, glaring at those eyes he now hated, while his own eyes filled with tears. Unable to punch Hannibal, or do anything at all, Will just glared at him for a long moment. Then he let go of the Prince's jacket, and stepped back. “Go away,” he said, quietly this time, his voice breaking in a sigh.

 

The Prince stood perfectly composed, then walked away from the wall, Will watching him leave.

 

William ended his confession with that scene of Hannibal in the middle of the hallways, unconcerned about the person he had just killed and the body he had just profaned. The young man had confessed everything, trying to underplay the love he still felt for Hannibal, not because of the sinful nature of it but because of the shame of confessing to his father that he had fallen in love with a monster. He was unable, though, to completely hide the sweetness of that intense relationship.

 

Jack heard the whole tale, not doubting Will's word for even a moment, his story so agitated and painfully told that there was no doubt about its truth. With the fullest smile that the horror of Will's tale allowed him, Jack patted his shoulder. “You did well to come to me, son,” he said calmly.

 

William was looking down, moving his head as he heard the word “son”: Jack didn't say it often. He had run to Jack in the morning, after nightmares and darkest fears had tormented his soul in the darkness of the night. Hannibal's voice and that smile kept appearing in his mind, confused with horrifying images of the blood and glass-like eyes of his victims. The desire to rid himself of the burden of that secret had pushed him into the arms of his father. Hannibal must be stopped.

 

“Are you going to arrest Hannibal?” he asked, his voice low.

 

The Marquess' face went rigid at hearing William refer to the Prince by his name, instinctively bonded to those now-so-meaningless formalities. “We can't risk letting him go, Will,” he answered. “It would be your word against his, we don't have evidence or other witnesses, we couldn't hope to give those people justice.”

 

“I'm a bastard, he is a Prince, nobody will believe me over him, that is what you are trying to tell me,” Will commented drily.   
  
Jack nodded. “We have to stop him, Will,” he said, sitting in front of the other man. “He came into my house, murdered my guests, hid himself like a snake in the middle of the crowd. He is the Devil, Will, justice must be done.” Jack spoke each word decisively. “And I need to know, son, if you really are one of us, if you will protect this house and family. Will you be on the right side when the moment comes?”   
  
William raised his gaze, watching Jack's eyes waiting for his promise to kill the man he loved. “I will, Father.”

***

William knocked on Hannibal's door in the night. He had been preparing his play, writing his own lines, repeating them over and over, hoping his voice wouldn't betray him, that his mouth would say them. Hannibal answered immediately, opening the door; he was wearing his nightgown and he looked surprised to see Will, standing in the dark hallway, dressed in day clothes, standing almost bodily, his eyes shining faintly in the dim light.

 

“Will, what a surprise to see you,” he said, studying Will, without a doubt trying to see what his intentions were. The young man felt shivers breaking on his back feeling that predator gaze inspecting him, knowing that Hannibal always could see his soul better than anyone else, including himself.

 

“What did you expect me to do? Come here with a platoon to hang you at the first gibbet available?” William asked, smiling sarcastically.

 

Hannibal smiled back. “Something like that, yes.”

 

Will looked away. “Are you going to let me in or we are waiting for someone to see me?” he asked, looking around nervously. “Rumours about sodomy are always so fashionable, one involving a bastard and a prince would be enough for people to fill embarrassing silences for years,” he added, chuckling. Again Hannibal rewarded him with another smile, stepping back to let him in.

 

“May I ask what do you intend to do, Will?” he asked as William, without asking, sat on one of the chairs near the little tea table.

 

The young man smiled amused. “What do you think?” he asked.

 

“You asked me to go away, I didn't think you would come here, though I'm glad you did,” Hannibal said, his voice low.

 

“Yes, I told you to leave, why didn't you? You could return to your country, home, far from here,” William said, looking at the frescos decorating the room, still speaking with that sarcastic tone.

 

“I couldn't go away, even though I knew that staying here was a risk,” Hannibal said. “How could I go without you?” he said.

 

William turned to him, surprised. Feeling the anger rising again, he let out a rancorous scoff. “How romantic,” he commented drily. “After you left a body dripping with blood in the dining room as a love token, I honestly didn't expect such conventional sentimentalism,” he bit out, seeing with pleasure Hannibal's face going rigid at his cruel comment.

 

“That woman had fulfilled her part and she treated you poorly,” the Prince stated darkly, almost warning.

 

William raised his eyebrow. “You killed her because she was ruining your tragic plot. Protecting me was a collateral effect,” he commented.

 

“As I told you, I would hate to see your mind caged and she was making you accept the idea of it, making you think it was right that way,” Hannibal answered, sighing. “Tell me, Will, did you really think you deserved death because of the pleasure you felt as you thought of the murder of her daughter? Returning to that place every day, only to see it coming to life again in your mind, gloating guiltily at every single little detail you were able to grasp, imagining your hands instead of mine surrounding her neck?”

 

Will smiled again. “We are the same. You were right in that respect,” he said, getting up and moving a few steps towards the Prince, “and I can't live without you, pretending that this never happened, forget you, forget all of this. I never know myself so well as when I am with you.”

 

Standing a few inches from where the Prince was, he pressed his lips to Hannibal's, who immediately melted against him, inhaling deeply at his neck, searching for the scent he had missed so much.

 

The smell of a stranger hit him instead, shattering the newborn passion rising in him. “You came here to be with me, Will? You are a wolf as much as I am now?” he asked, surprised at his own pain on realising Will's cruel trick. For once lying wasn't as easy as it used to be, the line came out broken, Jack's scent on his lover still clear in his mind.

 

“Yes, I am,” William said, leaning against Hannibal and kissing his neck deeply, wishing he could deny the pleasure he was feeling, the arousal starting in him as he tasted Hannibal's skin, feeling his warmth through the thin white clothes, his hair beneath his fingers. “I've always been.”

 


	9. Capitolo Nove

William looked at Hannibal, holding him tightly in the night, while he was sleeping deeply at Will’s side. After Will’s love confession and that passionate kiss, Hannibal had asked him to stay, to sleep with him as they did before. The Prince didn’t try to seduce him, he just kissed him good night, falling asleep doing so, peacefully reassured by Will’s false words and the renewal of their love. Will wasn’t sure how far he would have gone to catch Hannibal in his trap, or how far he could push before he fell into a trap again himself.

 

He glared at Hannibal, wondering if he would look so angelic once Will took his life, his eyes closed and his body abandoned like the romantic and eternally peaceful picture art wanted death to be. Very different from the strained, white bodies, covered in blood and eyes open in lifeless terror, that he had seen in reality. He wondered how Hannibal's expression would be, if his eyes would be frightened and pleading or if that shining, cruel amusement would instead stare at him, almost challenging him to actually do it, curious until the end to see what would happen, even while Will’s blade pushed into him and the blood started to run and dye his clothes.

Or would he strangle Hannibal instead? Like the girl Hannibal had wanted Will to believe he had killed? He would grip his hands around his neck, finally living that scene he had imagined so many times, and he would see that odious, curious flame blowing out slowly from his gaze, feeling his lover’s body losing life under his hands, falling to his knees, still smiling, grinning proudly to see that he had always been right about seeing an equal in Will.

 

Hannibal moved a little in his sleep. Without waking up completely he just immersed himself in Will’s curls, tightening his embrace for a second in his sleep.

 

William imagined leaving with him instead, to go to that far and unknown land. He would beg for Hannibal’s forgiveness, on his knees confessing that he had thought to betray their love, craving forgiveness, Hannibal’s benediction. Would he be punished with death? Would his lover dispose of his body as he did with the others, leaving it where his father could see his cruel mocking?

Or would they spend their days in bed, wrapped in the rich, expansive sheets, in Hannibal’s castle, which Will imagined beautiful and elegant, tastefully decorated, covered in minimal details like its owner. There people would speak Hannibal’s tongue, that Will imagined sweet and musical. Would Hannibal teach it to him? Maybe laughing at Will’s first difficulties, unable to pronounce the open and clear vowels and the foreign sounds, gifting him a kiss when he did well. The Prince would cook for him again, looking proud and flattered by Will compliments to his work. They would taste their love there, the Prince wouldn’t ever be able to miss or forget Will’s lips and scent again, or Will his.

 

But Hannibal was a wolf, the monster would continue to kill. One night Hannibal would return to their idyllic nest covered in blood, after having taken someone’s life with the same hands that had caressed him before.

***

William woke up in Hannibal’s bed, still dazed by the confused fragments of thoughts and fantasies that had been his night. Hannibal was awake, looking at him, and William for a second thought to see sadness in his eyes.

“Good morning,” Will said, snuggling into Hannibal’s arms, letting his words be muffled in his chest. Hannibal kissed him on the top of his head, closing his eyes, pressing his lips there for a long moment. The young man could hear Hannibal sighing. William couldn’t help himself but to think that it almost sounded like a farewell.

 

“We should gather our things to be ready to leave this night,” Hannibal said, ending his kiss suddenly, still holding him.

“What do you mean? You are not getting your servants to do that? Your leaving wouldn’t be suspect at all, considering most of the guests left already,” Will said, frowning, emerging lazily from Hannibal’s embrace.

“I always preferred to renounce some services if it allowed me to preserve my privacy. Too many people forget that servants are people as much as they are, in sale and untrustworthy as they are, they see and talk as much as we do,” Hannibal explained.

“Paranoid too?” Will asked, smiling.

Hannibal smiled back at him weakly. “If my departure would be considered normal, yours wouldn’t,” the Prince said, ignoring Will’s joke. “I suppose you should start to pack as well, deciding carefully what you want with you in your new life and what you want to leave behind,” Hannibal added, serious, looking at Will in the eyes.

 

“May I bring my dogs?” William asked, almost forgetting it was a play, that he was deceiving Hannibal, giving him death, that he wasn’t leaving at all. He asked such a natural, dull and ridiculously pragmatic question, imagining his dogs running in the open field and in the gardens that he had imagined that night.

Hannibal laughed, and again William couldn’t stop himself thinking that something in that voice was poisoned by a deep melancholy, hidden carefully but still clearly visible. “Yes, you may,” he answered.

Will didn’t warn Jack about the perfect success of their plan, that the prey had fallen in their trap, that come nightfall Hannibal would encounter his death. Instead William obeyed the Prince’s suggestion, preparing his things for the trip he would never go on. He couldn’t let such a small detail ruin his so-carefully built bait, he had to play his part with realism. He actually chose what to bring and what to leave, packing the things he couldn’t leave behind: his fishing instruments, a few books, some clothes he had received as presents. He went to take care of his beloved dogs, sorry for having to close them up in those little cages, caressing them and trying to comfort their desperate cries. Promising them they would be free again very soon, he left them in the hands of the only servant Hannibal had told him to trust. He was a not particularly smart looking boy – one of Hannibal’s servants – with his hair almost totally trimmed, who apparently didn’t know a single word in English and answered to Will’s recommendations with a grunt, bowing clumsily as Will left to meet Hannibal.

 

 


	10. Capitolo Dieci

The night was cold. Hannibal was waiting for him, standing on the stone square of one of the minor entrances, looking out into the darkness, his gaze lost in the dark void around the Realm, far from the few lights of the garden. William came up close to him.   
“I still love this place,” the Prince said, without turning to Will.   
The young man had felt his trepidation rising during the day, doubts torturing his organs, but now he was calm. “We should go,” he said, voice low with the cold distance of a guard informing the convicted man it is time to climb to the scaffold.

As they walked in silence, William observed Hannibal walking at his side, looking in front of himself into the night, proceeding along on the grass. He had followed the plan, suggesting they cut through the field, using the excuse of not wanting to call the attention of some invisible curious person. A weak justification, yet Hannibal didn’t complain.

When William stopped in the place he and his father had chosen, Hannibal finally looked at him. “You are so poetic Will, to end it all in the same place where it all started,” the Prince said observing the field where he had left that first victim, the one he had killed almost as a joke, and that had started instead a play in which even the Prince had had to play. He smiled as Jack appeared from the darkness like a predator which had been waiting patiently for its prey, thinking itself unnoticed, the long thin sword was shining of silver. Hannibal had perceived his smell and the reek of his sweating fear for a while now.

“What did he promise you? Did he finally call you son, Will? Did he promise to give you a proper name?” the Prince asked. There wasn’t rancour in his question as he got closer to Will, caressing his cheek and gently smiling. “I let you see me, Will. I promised you freedom, I let you see yourself,” he added, holding Will’s face in his hands, his lips bent to his ear. “You are on the right path to finally find home, Will, you only have to choose which one,” he said hugging him, embracing him under the moonlight, as he had done during that very first dance, smiling ambiguously, looking deeply in Will's eyes with that gaze that Will had felt so uncomfortable at first and that now he couldn't resist to stare, his lips a few inches from Will's.   
While Hannibal's hand ran on his hip, Will felt a weight falling on his hip, inside his pocket.

“Let him go,” Jack threatened lowly. His sword moved up, ready to bite Hannibal if necessary, he had picked it in order to avoid the noise of a gun and the mercy of a bullet. “Now!” he barked, as the Prince failed to obey. Hannibal let Will go, who, still dazed, stepped back, his hand moving to his pocket. A little dagger was in it. William could feel its cold, sharp blade and decorated handle under his hand.

“Come here, son,” the Marquess ordered, almost sweetly, but William could hear his fear in his voice. He wondered if it was because of Hannibal or because he feared Will would not obey him. The young man walked rapidly away from Hannibal, stopping at Jack’s side and then looking at his   
lover, his hand gripping his token. The metal was rapidly turning warm from his touch.

Hannibal had fallen to his knees, raising his hands to the top of his head, smiling amused at Jack. “Why didn’t you give a sword to Will too, Jack?” he asked. “Isn’t he the one who has to pay the tribute to show his devotion? Or were you afraid he would fail you?” Jack looked at him as his blade touched Hannibal’s throat, a trickle of blood running down the Prince’s neck. “Is this all the justice I will face? Won’t I be judged by your Royalty and People?” he asked, still mocking Jack, looking amused by his own last moments. 

“I will let God judge you, Your Grace, I will limit myself to protect what is mine,” the Marquess said raising his sword, preparing himself to give Hannibal death. Hannibal turned to William, who could feel the little weapon now burning in his hand, his lover’s gaze looking curiously at him, that ambiguous smile still on his face.

 

William stabbed him in the back, pushing the little blade entirely into Jack’s flesh, the blood burning his hand, staining Jack’s jacket fast propagating in it, following the branches of the rich fabric. 

He pulled the blade out; on the silver and on his hand the black liquid was shining under the moonlight, as Will had seen in his mind the girl’s, the man’s and the mother’s running as he hit them, slowly sliding down their skin, forming circular drops and finally falling on the damp blue grass. And like those times, William felt the horror filling him, and within it the immense pleasure he knew Hannibal had felt as he took their lives, the superiority and the satisfaction of seeing the prey falling in the trap he had so carefully prepared for it. He moved in front of his father, who had fallen gurgling to his knees, emitting a suffocated sound of surprise. He looked at Will, not believing what was happening.

William’s eyes were shining in the night below his long, curly hair, coldly observing the man kneeling in front of him, staring at the fear and disarming impotence in his eyes. Jack wouldn't be given the sweet ignorance of not knowing, he could foresee his death, and his son gloating of his sorrow.  
The father gurgled Will’s name, spitting blood as he did so.

Will raised his blade again, up above his head, looking into Jack’s eyes this time to see the atavistic terror of death lighting his gaze up, his black eyes opening grotesquely, opening his mouth to scream as Will stabbed him in the neck. The blood spilled fast and with force. Jack fell forward, his face ended on the ground, at Hannibal’s feet, who was still on his knees, marvelling at the scene, his eyes shining. Jack gasped in search of air as his life violently left him despite all his struggle to stay, his hands moving to the mortal wound, straining convulsively at it.   
William was observing him, Jack suffocating in his blood, gasping desperately for air and fighting the darkness that was rapidly devouring his world.   
Hannibal slowly got up, he got closer to Will “This is all I ever wanted for you, Will, for both of us,” the Prince said, embracing him, taking him in his arms, kissing his lips sweetly and looking at him proudly, his gaze full of indescribable love shining clearly.

William watched him, as the black blood ran fast through the grass around the corpse, shining, the puddle slowly becoming perfectly circular around Jack. The blood on Will’s hands was turning cold, drying on his skin, sticking to him. His father’s eyes were looking at the moon, finally growing dim. “It’s beautiful.”


	11. Epilogo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote an Epilogue!   
> Actually, I wrote this a while ago, hoping to find a way to continue it, I forgot about it until now and honestly I think it might be a good start for a second part of the Reggia di Venaria. I'm still not sure where is this going, so please leave comments with your ideas or just for telling me you like it as a start so I'll maybe find some motivation. 
> 
> IT IS NOT BETA TESTED  
>  (Sorry for butchering your language, please consider I failed English multiple times at school and I never had a single English curse at university, I learnt from Netflix, Youtube and this site mostly)

William could see that night happening over and over again in his mind, the black so intense of the blood shining shyly like stars under the moonlight, and his eyes, also black, losing their light instead. He had seen his father dying under his hand thousands of times, searching maybe for at least a sense of guilt at first, some sign that who had thought to be before wasn't completely lost, now only just to see it, to gloat of his crime.

  
He sighed, looking hypnotized by the fire lighting in the fireplace. The warm summer had left its place in the fall, and now the winter was starting slowly. The morning sun had started to be covered by a dense fog, surrounding the castle completely, making Will wondered of there had been really something else beyond that gray cold sea before. When the sun finally got free, the weather wasn't kinder, the light was gold but the air was frozen and cutting.  
Hannibal's home wasn't so different from what William had expected, it was beautiful, countless rooms all decorated with careful taste, crowded with art of different places and ages, almost intimidating for their beauty and story and sadly empty, Hannibal had been the only person living, except all the servants that worked there, who certainly didn't call it home.

  
William occupied most of his time studying the new language he was living with, trying to do small talk with the servants at first, but after they had fatigued so much to understand what Will had tried to say in his so alien accent, and the irritated looks they had given him once they had gotten that the master wasn't ordering them anything, he had abandoned his attempts. He talked only to Hannibal now, asking him to teach him as in that fantasy he had had a long time ago, and the Prince had been happy to oblige. They passed most of their days together, in the quiet of the library or in one of the numerous living rooms, where Hannibal delighted William playing new melodies at the harpsichord or he silently drew William while he read, study or simply laying sleepily with Winston on his lap.

William had seen his beautiful drawings, so accurate in the anatomy and realistic in the expression that they might be real if not freeze in time. Although Hannibal hadn't shown him only the romantic and idealistic ones, in some of them there were pain and death, sometimes their faces were deformed by the pain, in others the death had relaxed them, but in the eyes the terror they had seen and lived was still shining, perfectly fixed forever by Hannibal's pencil.

  
"What did come before? The art inspired the act or the act inspired the art?" William had asked watching the pictures, he and the Prince didn't touch that topic often, Will avoided it in any way and Hannibal had accepted his lover's unspoken request to not commit new murders, anytime soon at least.

  
"Did you killed them just to make your drawing real? Or you killed them and wanted that moment to last eternally?" he had asked. Hannibal had smiled "You know Seneca told this story of an artist, who, wanting to draw Prometheus in pain, asked to one of his slaves to pose for him, and then he tortured him, drawing the sufferance and finally the death of the poor man, because, how could hope the art to imitate reality if reality itself was an imitation?" he had said "But I think the artist made an error, he sacrificed a man thinking that the immortality of the drawing he was doing was the art, paid with a rather miserable price" he had added, William had looked at him confused "I rather think that the killing itself should be the art."

  
Hannibal entered the room, visibly tired by the administrative work that had occupied most of his day, unlike most of the nobility Will had met, Hannibal insisted on being involved in the administration of his propriety, with the result that his little piece of land was one of the most modern oasis in the middle of the still lost in the Middle Age's darkness of the rest of the country. He sat at Will's side, making Winston get out of the couch with an irritated sign. Will tried not to smile, when he had politely asked the permission of letting his dogs live inside, worried about the cold winter, the Prince had smiled "I promised you a home, Will, you don't have to ask me permission, you are not a guest in here" he had said holding him in his hands, maybe too influenced by the moment of love that had filled his heart in that moment.

  
"How are you, Will?" he asked in his language, "Fine" William answered, trying to bend his tongue to the foreign sound, leaning himself against his lover.  
"Are you thinking about that night again?" the Prince asked, shifting to English quickly.  
William nodded. "Do you regret your choice, Will?" he asked caressing his curly hair gently. Will wondered how would Hannibal react if he had said he did, but he knew he couldn't lie to him. "No" he answered sincerely, the blood was still shining in his mind "Sometimes" he started then stopped himself, Hannibal squeezed him in his arms, asking silently to continue his confession, William bit his lips "sometimes I would like to do it again" he said slowly, he could picture perfectly Hannibal's smile at his words, the Prince's lips touched the back of his head "Did you enjoy killing him?" he asked, meeting his hands on Will's chest, immersing himself in his neck. William nodded, unable to say it out loud, feeling the cry thickening in his throat. Hannibal embraced him sweetly.

* * *

 

Hannibal signed William to get closer, already immersed in the warm water, the vapour had filled the room, moving slowly in circles. The Prince had the strange habit of washing frequently and he loved William to join him.  
Will was covering himself with a towel, looking dubious at him standing a few steps from the bathtub, it was a big enough to stay they both comfortably, occupying the center of the room "Are you sure I won't get a cold?" he asked, Hannibal smiled "Yes, Will, a good warm bath can be even therapeutic sometimes, especially in a such rigid winter as we are having" he said as Will finally clumsily climbed in the bathtub, purring at the temperature of the water, sitting near Hannibal.   
As always, the Prince started to cover his curls with perfumed oils, he seemed to love Will's long hair, as the fashion and his rank had imposed it to be, Hannibal loved to massage him slowly and carefully, his finger caressing Will's skin, making him shiver.

  
"I invited a person here, just a little dinner," he said. William, now completely abandoned at Hannibal's touch, didn't even open his eyes "I will have to participate too?" he asked, already annoyed at the idea to have to return to those mundane events he hadn't miss at all. Hannibal chuckled "Of course you have to participate, Will, I invited him for you" Hannibal said "I don't want you to get bored, so I searched a guest who speaks English, it will be good for you, to get out of this isolation, even if for a few hours."  
William started to laugh suddenly, quietly at first, then more openly, enough to stop Hannibal's massage "And how are you going to introduce me exactly?" he asked continuing his laugh "This is Will, a bastard I found in England and with whom I share my bed every night?" Hannibal smiled "We are going to lie, Will, but it won't really matter what we say" the young man returned seriously, still smiling silly "How so?" he asked turning to Hannibal, already knowing the answer "Because we are going to eat him."

 

 


End file.
